Red Bows
by Astreich689
Summary: It was done to avenge the great L's death, but somehow, that still doesn't make it right.  Because Mello has never been one to repay kindness with cruelty, which seems like exactly what he's doing.  Mello x Sayu
1. Hush, My Darling

**(A/N:) HAI GUYS!**

**Thanks for clicking that little button which transported you magically to this story. I promise, you won't be disappointed!**

**Depressingly enough, however, this is my first story in the Death Note fandom (though more are sure to follow), so it might not be great, but I swear, I'm trying.**

**Being the scarily terrible author I am, I'll spare you any more failed annotations and skip right to the disclaimer. Mello, you're up!**

**Mello: Not until you give me that three-foot Swiss chocolate you promised.**

**Astreich: Mello, just do it, or I'll use my authorly powers on you! *waves hands in creepy way in front of face***

**Mello: No.**

**Astreich: Fine, you know what? Fine. I do not own Death Note. Happy now?**

**Mello: Of course you don't own a Death Note. If you did, you'd be dead and I'd have it. *looks meaningfully at pistol***

**Astreich: *sniffle* Is that really how you feel, Mello? After everything I've done for you . . . .**

**Mello: Which is what, exactly? You still haven't given me my chocolate . . . .**

**Astreich: *grins maliciously and pulls out three-foot chocolate, unwrapping foiland taking a bite***

**Mello: No, Astreich, WAIT! I LOVE YOU, I REALLY DO! I'LL DO ANYTHING FOR YOU!**

**Astreich: Fine. *tosses chocolate* You really shouldn't be cheating on Sayu, you know . . . . .**

**Sayu: What's that I hear, Mello? *cracks knuckles***

**Mello: GULP.**

**And now, without further ado, I present to YOU, ladies and gentlemen, _Red Bows._**

CHAPTER 1: Hush, My Darling

_The big red bow bounced hypnotically up and down in his vision, balanced precariously atop a short, black-haired girl's head. Her huge, innocent eyes beamed at him with brightness that could rival the sun's as she looked him up and down questioningly. Her face was contorted impossibly into an enormous grin, lit like a lightbulb and making it nigh on impossibly for him not to laugh, or at least smile back. She bounced expectantly from foot to foot, beckoning to something in her outstretched hand and waiting impatiently for him to relieve her of it._

_He gingerly pulled the foil-wrapped object out of her grasp and looked it over, not understanding. "What is it?" he asked cautiously._

_"Hah, you're funny!" she laughed. "Don't tell me you've never had chocolate!"_

_"Chock . . . . . . lit?" he questioned. The word was unfamiliar, but it was a warm word, a nice word, comforting in a way. He liked the way it rolled off his tongue._

_The girl giggled. "Chocolate, silly. Here!" She ripped it out of his hands before he could protest and pulled back the thin layer of aluminum foil. The action revealed four rows of lopsided brown cubes, pressed together so they formed a single shape. He scowled silently at being called "silly" by someone who looked younger than he was, and snatched the candy away as quickly as she had in his anger._

_Curiously, he sniffed at the stuff and then bit off a large chunk, not caring that it wasn't his. Immediately, a warm, sugary, yet surprisingly bitter sensation filled his mouth, and he closed his eyes in enjoyment at the new taste. Chocolate. Yes, he liked it a lot._

_Before either of them knew it, the whole bar was gone and he was smacking his lips, wanting more. The girl, however, huffed indignantly. "That was Sayu's chocolate! You could've given her a piece you know," she grumbled, scoffing._

_"Yeah, well, I don't share," he said, intending to annoy her. It worked._

_"Meanie!" she yelled. Then, before he knew what was going on, she had flicked him in the forehead and was gone, running up the street towards the center of town and not looking back. The boy sat in dumbfounded amazement, staring after her until she had mounted a hill and was out of sight._

_He had learned a few things that day that he would need when he became L's successor, but for now, two things raced through his mind._

_Her name was Sayu and he had eaten her chocolate._

* * *

><p><em>Brrrrr! Brrrrr!<em>

Mello's eyes shot open as his hip-pocket began vibrating with vigor, shaking him out of his slumber. In fact, he didn't even remember falling asleep. He must've just dozed off during the long wait on the zebra-striped couch in the current Mafia HQ. _Damn! _he thought silently, scolding himself and checking his face to make sure nobody had done anything to him. He'd learned the hard way that falling asleep in the lounge was a very dangerous thing to do, especially if any of the other Mafia members had sharpies on their persons.

Slowly, he reached for his cell, and he could already feel his body tensing up again as he remembered the present situation. How had it gone? Had anything disrupted his plans? Or had it been a success? But no, he'd been planning this kidnapping for months, and nothing could possibly go wrong. He'd laid it out perfectly, because he was Mello. It had to be perfect. Right? He lifted the phone into the air by a little keychain he'd attached to it and pressed the small green button on the left side.

"What?" he said in a nonchalant, lazy voice that masked his nervousness.

"We have the girl you asked for, Mello. She's in the back. Now open the gates and let us in." Mello ended the connection with a tiny sigh of relief and looked up at the surveillance monitors. There, idling in front of the dilapidated old hideout was the black Sedan in which he'd sent his goons out. He zoomed the camera in on the driver's side and found that it was indeed one of his minions, and not a cop or someone who had found him out. Again, he breathed out a sigh. What a nuisance that would be.

Suddenly, the walkie-talkie on his right buzzed into life, and he picked it up, speaking to the guard at the garage doors before he'd even said a word. He knew what the man would say anyway, so why bother listening?

"They're friendly. Now open the doors and let them in, then instruct them to take the girl to the cell we arranged previously." He cut off the transmission abruptly and proceeded in watching the exchange, nodding to himself in a satisfied matter as they pulled the girl from the back door of the car, blindfolded, gagged and groaning. Of course he hadn't failed. Fail wasn't a word in Mello's dictionary.

And yet, watching them push her to the floor even when they knew she couldn't catch herself, he felt a small twinge of guilt bite at his gut. He couldn't fathom how it must have felt for the girl to be pulled out of her normal, wonderful (boring) world, captured, blindfolded, and taken to a place that could have been a universe away for all she cared. Where no one showed her the kindness and respect she was used to receiving. Where the people treated her like dirt, like she had suddenly found herself in the wrong century.

But then he shook his head and dispelled the thoughts. A hostage was a hostage, no matter how innocent or childish or terrified they looked. No matter what gender they were. _Come on Mello, you've done this before. _But even in his thoughts, he couldn't bite back the '_Not to a girl' _which followed that sentence.

Mello sat up abruptly and swung over to a swivel chair closer to the many flat-screen monitors on the walls, leaning back and putting his feet on the counter in a very rude and unacceptable manner he enjoyed greatly. He frowned at the quality of the images before him; he'd known the cameras were not the greatest, but today they somehow seemed even more fuzzy than usual. An annoying situation, of course, but a very fixable one. All he needed to do was demand that the Boss buy new ones, as they were "crucial" to the operation. That method usually worked, and it was how he maintained his steady flow of chocolate bars into the hideout without having to pay a cent.

A sudden movement on the screens interrupted his musings. The blindfolded girl had stumbled and fell to the floor, and Mello watched as the goons laughed at her muffled moan of pain when she tried to get up and they pushed her back down. She then squirmed on the ground for a few seconds under their hard soled shoes, struggling, before apparently decided it was fruitless. The men absolutely guffawed when they kicked her non-too-gently onto her back and she lay meekly, face contorted into an expression filled with shock and fear. She froze, as though hoping that if she didn't so much as twitch, they, like Tyrannosaurii, would leave her be. That was not to happen of course, not with these beings closer related to apes than men.

Mello growled. He flicked out his phone once again in a very L-like fashion, speed-dialing the number 3, and wondering why he even bothered.

He watched while the burly goon with graying hair on the left of the screen dug around in his deep coat pocket, eventually producing an outdated cell that jingled happily with some crappy tune or other. He slid it open and gingerly put it up to his ear. "What is it, boss?" Mello heard the questioning tone both through the phone and the bugs placed all along the hallway. He was silently relieved that the man had remembered not to address him by his alias with the hostage around; what with all the threatening that came behind it, it was maybe the one instruction that had stayed within his mind.

"Stop spoiling the merchandise," he snarled menacingly. The man on the other end jumped up, as if electrocuted, obviously having forgotten that he was being watched. He looked around wildly in an attempt to locate the tiny cameras hidden throughout the hall, but failed miserably. Mello watched on in contempt. Why the Boss would even think to hire such idiots was beyond his understanding. But then again, they had served their purpose, hadn't they?

"We want her in good condition and _alive_ for the exchange, so I suggest you start being careful." He made the menace in his voice apparent, clear to even the imbecile before him. It seemed to do the trick, as a shadow of fear crossed the man's face before he could reply.

There was a momentary silence on the other end, filled only by nervous breathing, then a muffled, "Yes boss."

Satisfied but also thoroughly annoyed, Mello spun around on his chair to face the rest of the room. In a few hours, he would have to interrogate the girl (Sayu, was it?) to find out if she knew anything he could use to his advantage on the Kira case, and he really didn't feel up to it. The fluorescent lights overhead seemed a little too bright, the various noises coming from surveillance a little too loud; he could feel a pounding headache coming on rapidly.

Maybe a little chocolate would help? He reached into a freshly delivered and already opened box to pull out a heavy, foot-long 63% cocoa Godiva. Practically ripping the foil off one edge, he snapped a piece between his teeth, savoring the dark bitterness. Contrary to popular belief, chocolate didn't have to be sweet to be good. Chocolate was chocolate, and it often put his mind off the many stressful things in his life, leaving him strangely at peace. He closed his eyes and stood up slowly, wondering if perhaps it could get rid of headaches as it could problems. His legs felt a little unsteady, as though he'd lost the composure he'd had just moments ago, but he regained his balance quickly and pushed through the doors, strolling out with his regular quick stride and calm air. Because he was Mello, and he could do anything he pleased.

* * *

><p>They hadn't even bothered untying her. They had jumped her, tied her limbs so tightly they'd become numb, blindfolded her, gagged her, dragged her out God knows where, and thrown her onto the bare floor of someplace cold, which was where she found herself now.<p>

To say the least, Sayu was pissed. She was pissed, terrified, uncomfortable, and in pain. But mostly terrified. And although she felt it didn't seem to fit her current situation at all, she had to admit she was just a tad curious. What was this place? Who were these people? Were they police who thought she was Kira? No, because 1), she hadn't given them any reason to think that, and 2), they would've done a formal arrest instead of mauling her in the middle of the night on her aimless walk around the To-Ho campus. But then . . . why was she here?

"Oh God," she mouthed, or tried to mouth, as a horrible thought crossed her mind: _are they rapists? _The terror returned with renewed vigor, and she clenched her fists until her manicured nails drew blood.

Then abruptly, she sighed with relief. If her abductors had been rapists, wouldn't they have already done their business and killed her in some way? In fact, in any other situation she could think herself through, she'd already be dead. Muggers? Dead or badly injured, but in her home city. Gangs? Raped and dead. Serial killers? Dead, obviously. Madmen with lots of power? Umm . . . . . survival was a possibility? _I'm alive enough at the moment, _she thought, tightening her muscles as though awaiting the gunshot that signaled the start of a sprint.

Out of everything her partly-concussed mind had dreamed up (her kidnappers had so kindly allowed her to hit her head on the floor when she fell and couldn't catch herself), she hated to say that the last possibility seemed the most probable. _Unless . . . _It hit her. _Could it be . . . for a ransom, perhaps? It would explain why they haven't killed me yet. It's too much effort to kidnap person after person of importance and remain incognito about it, especially when you have to ship them off to a different country. Which I'm sure is what they did to me. But I still have to prove this theory before I make any drastic moves; otherwise, I'll just end up meeting my maker sooner than necessary._

Sayu let her mind drift off the topic, slowly losing focus and becoming fuzzy around the edges as the fatigue of the worst day of her life crept up over her. She wondered vaguely about where she'd been taken and if there was anything she could do about it. Well, after they'd shoved her into the back of a van (without a seatbelt. Just another little thing to add to her nauseating headache.), it pulled into an airport, most likely a private one. She'd figured this out after she recognized that sickening lurch in her stomach, which signified their leaving the ground. The shaky flight had hit turbulence several times, suggesting that it was a small plane, and took an unfathomably long and uncomfortable time. It was almost as lengthy as that one instance in which she'd flown to Europe on that continental tour as a child, to see the mountains and the ocean and the great cities.

That image of herself on a beach along the Atlantic remained ingrained in her mind as she drifted in and out of consciousness. She was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and pulled over to let sleep take the driver's seat. When she was awake, she wished she was anywhere in the world except for this icy, hard floor. When she was asleep, she wished for an aspirin. All in all, she wished fervently that her kidnappers would at least take off the blindfold that shrouded her world in darkness, so she could check the leather watch on her wrist and see how much time had passed since she'd been stolen away. For some odd reason, she always felt nervous when she couldn't see the hour, like she was supposed to be somewhere and didn't know when to leave. Now, being cut off from even the most simple human wants, sight, movement, time, it felt like hours went by, when in reality, it could have only been seconds.

Finally, after drifting forever in the cold, silent blackness, she just couldn't take it. Her eyes betrayed her and leaked small, salty tears, even though she'd sworn to remain strong and unbreakable.

_Are they . . . . . will they ever let me out of here?_

It was her breaking point. Abrupt panic took over, and she began to scream wildly into the gag, kicking and thrashing like a fish stranded on land. She was fully awake, fully alert, and her head screamed at her to stop, though her body failed to listen. She kept on until her throat burned and she was gasping for breath to sustain consciousness through the coarse fabric in her mouth. Tears streamed down her face in little rivulets, and she felt broken, absolutely cracked in two. She sobbed silently, curling up in the fetal position (only with her arms behind her back) and rocking back and forth in an attempt to calm herself. Her fists clenched and unclenched violently, and she hyperventilated until stars of black spun across her vision, being unable to stop.

"So, are you finished?" Sayu froze in place, all her momentary panic dying away as it was replaced by a fresh wave of burning hope. In all the frenzy of her attack, she must not have heard the approach of the man that no doubt stood above her. Surely, he was here to save her? Untie her, at least? Relief flooded through the girl before she could attempt to stop it in case of a coming disappointment, warming her skin for the instant. For maybe half a second, she wondered how it was possible to feel all these conflicting, clashing emotions at exactly the same time, but she quickly pushed the thought away, instead lying still and waiting for the man who'd saved her from herself to make a move.

"Well get up, dammit! I know you're alive, and I'm not gonna bite." Hesitantly, she complied, sitting up slowly and facing the direction the voice had come from. She tilted her head up ever so slightly, in order to show him the discomfort she was feeling, emphasizing it. Sayu had always been a good actor, so giving the things she was already feeling a little more color was like eating cake: easy, fast, and almost enjoyable. She was pretty sure acting ran in the family: Light could make up a lie in a split second and not break a sweat, similar to her own abilities. She'd caught him in the act many a time, but never turned him in like the good little sister she was.

Without any warning, the blindfold was ripped from around her head. As the glaring light of the room hit her, Sayu squealed, wishing she could move her arms to cover her eyes. Instead, she grimaced and buried her face in her knees.

Or tried to. The man didn't give her a chance, yanking her head up by her hair and pulling the gag from her mouth with the same ferocity as he had the blindfold. Sayu was pretty sure she now had red ropeburn marks along her jaw. She flexed it painfully, coughing and trying to get the foul taste of the rag out of her mouth. Her face scrunched up in pain as she tried to block out the world that had suddenly attacked her senses, but when the man yanked her hair up once again to make her face him and look him in the eye, muttering something incoherent the whole time, it became too much.

Sayu's throat burned. Sayu's eyes stung. Sayu's scalp throbbed. Sayu's head pounded. And Sayu fell limp onto the floor by this stranger, not being able to take it any longer.

**(A/N:) Aaaaaand there we go, chapter 1. How was it? I don't mean to be a review whore, but I can't help it. Actually, flames are welcome too! =D**

**-Astreich**


	2. Don't Fear, My Darling

**(A/N): My huge apologies for the superlong wait for this chapter, because it literally only took me two days to write. However, I was on a three week hiatus at the single best summer camp ever, and had no access to computers. So here you go.**

**After a stupidly long three weeks, you deserve it. =)**

**Oh right, I almost forgot. Sayu?**

**Sayu: Fiona K does not own Death Note.**

**Astreich: GAH! You used my real name! Now your brother'll kill me for making him look like an idiot in the other fic I'm writing!**

**Sayu: . . . . Sorry?**

**Astreich: *facepalms and goes to change story before she dies***

**If you're still reading this, kudos to you XD!**

* * *

><p><span>CHAPTER 2: Don't Fear, My Darling<span>

Mello was beyond annoyed. He was outraged. This wasn't how it was supposed to go down _at all. _He was supposed to barge in, ask a few questions, harass her a bit, then leave as quickly as he'd come. That had been the plan, quick, simple, infallible.

Stupid, stupid woman.

Why, _why_ was she lying obnoxiously unconscious on the ground, before he'd had the chance to do any of those things _at all?_

At this point, Mello really had no idea of what to do anymore. All his hostages before had been tough nuts (or as they liked to call themselves, "unbreakable"): Mafia, drug dealers, even government officials, but not hopeless weaklings. For people like that, he just didn't know what course of action to take. What was worse was that if he didn't tread carefully, the Boss plus the rest of the thugs watching his performance in the surveillance room could interpret certain things as weakness on his part. That made just waiting for the woman to wake up of her own accord out of the question. It would easily be mistaken for kindness, and in the Mafia's almost bestial fight for the top position, that would be intolerable. Mello hadn't fought tooth and claw up the ladder of power for so many years for it all to eventually add up to nothing.

But then, what was he supposed to do? Shake her awake? Slap her? But he instantly knew the first option was out of the question. Too gentle. And he wasn't the kind of guy who carried smelling salts on their person, either, though at times like these, he wished he were.

But . . . . . hitting a girl?

_This is so messed up, _he thought, flipping over her limp body roughly, until her head lolled over to the side in unconsciousness. _But there's too much at stake if I don't. What a stupid dilemma._

Then he spared himself one look at his victim and instantly regretted it. A slight hesitation was all it took to lose the resolve he'd built up, and a guilty expression lingered momentarily on his face afterward.

Because she looked so innocent. So sweet, and innocent, and most of all undeserving of all this. Short, raven-black hair had spilled out of it's high ponytail and fell out on either side of her face, framing it like a halo and bringing out the ugly, sleepless bags under her eyes. The eyes themselves were shut tightly, scrunched up and locking her away from the outside world as though she was having a nightmare. Her skin was chalky, pale as ebony, contrasting harshly with her dark facial features, but resulting in something oddly beautiful. With thin, chapsticked lips slightly parted, she looked almost kissable . . . .

Then his eyes widened as he forced the train of thought to come to a skidding, jarring stop. _What_ had that been? Mello bit his lip and shook his head, golden hair fanning out in it's wake and gleaming in the lamplight. _The lights . . . . that must be it._ Their blinding glow, combined with the reflection off the white walls and floor, were strengthening his headache and not letting him think clearly. Because that was quite possibly the most stupid thing that'd ever crossed his mind. _Great. Fucking great. To think that today, of all days, when my plans are finally bearing fruit, a distraction like this would come up and try to ruin it._

Mello growled silently and sent up a prayer to a God he didn't believe in that the others hadn't seen his setback, then promptly drew back his palm and slapped the girl, letting out his rage. When no reaction came of it, he snarled and tried again, and again, until a soft moan reached his ears. He stood up swiftly and balled his fists to keep from shaking with anger. Stupid girl, what could she possibly have done to have this effect on his practically nonexistent conscience?

He decided then and there that he definitely hated her.

Mello stuck his hand in his pocket nonchalantly and pulled out a foil-wrapped chocolate bar, bringing it to his mouth and biting down with a loud _snap. _The noise reverberated around the white room, filling and overpowering the tense, long silence that had hung in the air_._

He watched in scorn as slowly, her eyes slid open. She took one bleary glance at him and groaned, which, strangely, annoyed him to no end. Was there anything wrong with the way he looked? He felt a sudden urge to kick her, his momentary reluctance at hurting a woman forgotten.

The urge, of course, didn't go unfulfilled. As his black leather boot connected with her side, he snarled out a loud, "Look at me," and watched her eyes go wide. They were bloodshot, he noticed, but didn't hesitate in producing new tears. Salty drops leaked from the corners of her eyes in tiny streams, and she looked so sorry for herself that Mello couldn't help but feel guilty all over again.

Nevertheless, he gritted his teeth and put on his best fear-inducing face. "Get up."

_Snap. _He stared down at her over his chocolate.

But she didn't, only sat slowly, and something about her face hardened. Instead of doing as she was told, her cheeks puffed out like she was holding her breath, and Mello realized idly what she was trying to do. Stubborn little fool. Had he not been in such a decidedly bad mood, he would've found her antics slightly amusing, but now, they just added to his foul temper. He subsequently lashed out and broke her concentration, forcing her to take a breath as she fell back to the ground, head smacking against the white tiles.

_You want to be nasty? Well, hate to tell you, but two can play at that game. _

"Are you listening yet?" A soft moan was his answer. "I'm going to ask you a few questions, and you're going to tell me the exact, true answers. No lying. Got it?"

_Snap._

She stared up at him with a pleading look clearly written in her caramel-colored eyes, but he turned away, not wanting to meet that painful gaze. That beautiful, wide-eyed brown gaze . . . .

_Red bows._

Okay, now he was officially losing it.

Mello shook his head. Red bows? Was it some sort of elusive deduction? A memory? He wanted to just shake his head hard and get rid of all these stupid, headache-induced snippets of thought. They were distracting, and he couldn't afford to be distracted at a crucial point in his plan like this. Though he supposed she would look good in one . . . . .

That was it.

"Forget it," he muttered, stalking away from the battered, bound woman and slamming the whitewashed door behind him before she could say anything that might him stop.

At the questioning looks he got from the goons at the door (who were supposed to be guarding, but in reality were trying and failing to conceal from his eyes the poker game they'd set up on the floor), he said softly, "I'm going to bed," in a tone that stated, "Question me and I kill you."

When he reached his decrepit old door, the gray paint peeling off in layers that he hadn't bothered to cover up, he pushed through it and locked it, flopping down on a lumpy, sheetless futon. He pulled an aspirin from his pocket and stuck it into his mouth, chewing loudly and pretending the foul taste that filled his mouth was chocolate. Soon, his head found a pillow and he exhaustedly closed his eyes.

_There is definitely something wrong with me._

The image of wide brown eyes was burned into his mind as he drifted off into nothingness.

* * *

><p><em>"You look really sad, mister. What's your name?"<em>

_Pause. "Mello."_

_"Okay Mello, why are you sad?"_

_"Go away."_

_"Fine, don't tell me. But I have something that might make you feel better."_

_A voice tinged with annoyance. "Doubt it."_

_"Want some?"_

_Pause. "What is it?"_

_"Hah, you're funny. Don't tell me you've never had chocolate!"_

_Chocolate._

_Chocolate._

_Choc-_

* * *

><p>The fluorescent white lights, so bright they almost glowed green, had outlined his silhouette so beautifully, so perfectly, that she'd first mistaken him for her guardian angel, come to take her out of her misery.<p>

But she couldn't have been more wrong.

If anything, Sayu's body ached more _after_ encountering him than before. She could feel the heat in her cheeks where he'd slapped her, welts most likely rising, and her side hurt like hell. What were that man's shoes made of, steel? She grimaced. But at least her eyes were finally used to the glare of the ceiling lamps (which were far, far too bright to be good for a person's health).

_It's almost like our school lab before we do . . . . oh shit. _She couldn't stop herself from finishing the sentence in time: _Dissections. _Another wave of panic ran through her momentarily, but she calmed herself by thinking that the guy had only come in to question her. Questioning was a good sign, right? It meant that they weren't going to cut her up into little pieces. At least, not in the time being.

Things could've been a better. A whole lot better, in fact. But as she thought herself through this situation, she suddenly knew that things could've been a lot worse. Sure, the lights were bright, but at least she could _see. _Sure, her head was pounding painfully, but at least she wasn't having any delusional thoughts like just a little while ago. Sure, she was anxious and terrified, but her pounding heart had calmed and the adrenaline was finished rushing through her body like fire.

She wordlessly sat up and leaned against the cold, white wall. Where she promptly realized she was bored. '_Think about life,' _Sayu's brother had once told her. '_If you're bored or nervous, ponder why the sky is blue, why water is wet, and why rocks are hard. If you find the answer, come and tell me.' _She snorted softly as the memory drifted across her mind.

_It's not as easy as you make it sound, Lighty. You and I both know I can't concentrate on shit like that. _

What _did_ keep coming to mind was how confused, almost agitated her captor had acted upon interrogation. He'd tried to put on a rough face, sure, but his eyes kept darting up the walls, and he shook his head often and at the most random times, as though trying to clear his mind. An actor could read an actor, and he definitely wasn't the greatest.

So why? The look on his face had been almost . . . guilty. As if he didn't want to be doing what he was doing.

But of course he wanted to. The man hadn't kidnapped her and _then_ decided to feel regretful about it, right?

Because, after waking her up, he'd said two words, two stupid words, and just walked out of the room like that was that. The dipshit. Sayu felt a sudden burst of anger flare up in the pit of her stomach. It wasn't directed just at the leather-clad blonde, but at this situation as a whole. It was so . . . so _stupid! _And _pointless! _And utterly, agonizingly breathtaking in the worst of ways, ways that left her feeling defeated and broken all over again. There wasn't anything she could do, was there?

Nothing except waiting and hoping. Her father was chief of the Japanese police. He could rescue her. No, he _would_ get her out of this mess, and then she could laugh in the blonde's nasty face when he got arrested before her eyes. She would sneer at him and kick him and hit him with the same vehemence he'd had earlier. Sayu could see the scene, could embrace it, and it was the single beacon of hope in the overpowering blackness that was her life at the moment. Her dad would save her, all she had to do was wait.

She tilted her head back until it touched the wall, feeling her black ringlets fall from the broken ponytail and onto her shoulders. A murderous grin adorned her face.

Sayu Yagami stared off into whiteness, hoping.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN): So, how was it? Tried to add some Mello cutesy-ness in there, because I live off the stuff. Yes, I do. **

**Special thanks goes to Katsumi Hatake and jamesmaslowfan07, both of whom gave me a ton of support and made me feel like a good writer which let me break my writer's block. THANKS, KAT AND JAMES!**

**Also, I have to thank you awesome reviewers: Bran and iatethecookie for making me want to write more and please people! You two get cyber-chocolate.**

**Tell me how I did, and I'll mention you next time around. And there you go, a little slice of fame!**

**Okay, I'll be blunt. Review. Do it. They make an author very happy and _inspired _*hint hint nudge nudge wink wink* =D**

**-Astreich**


	3. The Lion Never Sleeps

**(A/N:) Heh, you guys thought I was quitting on this, didn't you? But HA! I'm back with another chappie. For some reason, this one took an insanely long time period to write, and I've been meaning to bring this idea in a while ago, but it keps getiing pushed back. This was originally going to be a five chapter fic, but I can see that's no longer happening . . . .**

**So, because you were such faithful waiters, I give you the !**

**And now, for the wonderful disclaimer of the day:**

**Disclaimer: Mello Take II**

**Mello: Astreich does not own Death Note.**

**Astreich: Good boy! *pats head***

**Mello: *walks in* WTF! How the hell'd you get your hands on Near's puppet of me?**

**Astreich: Erm . . . (censored violence)**

**This chapter is dedicated to Katsumi Hatake (you are ALWAYS there), jamesmaslowfan07, and iatethecookie (for her amazing and extremely UNLAZY review). Thanks, guys.**

**Warning: I may or may not have been high when I thought of this chapter's contents. . .**

CHAPTER 3:

Sayu sighed for about the fortieth time that day. Her eyes were closed, and a faint line of drool had made its way down her face (not that she cared much, there were no men to impress), but she couldn't fall asleep no matter what she did.

_Damn these restraints, _she thought. She hadn't been able to feel her hands for hours, and the handcuffs forced her to pinch her shoulder blades back into an unnatural position behind her body. To hell, the people here wouldn't even allow her to lie down like any normal human being! It was cruel of anyone to do, even a band of (most-likely) mentally deranged kidnappers. No doubt they were all watching her on surveillance too, staring her down as though she were a part of some lustful porn tape. That may have been the most infuriating thing of all: knowing that somewhere in this Godforsaken building, a gang of normal people, mobsters or not, was laughing as it watched her struggle.

_And there goes my pampered ass again, co__mplaining. You know, self, that really isn't going to get you too far in this situation._

But at least mental complaints were more entertaining than doing absolutely nothing. As much as Sayu hated to admit it, the boredom had sunken in pretty quickly, and she couldn't possibly sleep any longer, even if she tried.

Groaning, she sat up and searched the whitewashed room for a source of amusement with a hawkish glare of concentration. There were no unnecessary details added to the living space, no table, no futon, no homeliness whatsoever, only the bare essentials. She could have been on the inside of a glowing, fluorescent cube for all she cared. But nevertheless, she inspected every aspect of the place anyway, looking for something to ease her boredom. The floor: plain white and bare; nothing to do there. The ceiling: fluorescent lights; nada, unless her game involved becoming emo and potentially going blind. The walls: ugly, plain; not a chance of anything interesting, reall- wait. That black spot in the far corner: what was it? A camera?

_That'll be it,_ she thought. _Not that it helps my mental state to know that my kidnappers are freaking perverts as well as lunatics._

To test her theory, Sayu inched towards the middle of the room, out of the Sacred Corner of Safeness, as she'd dubbed it. The black dot inched right along with her, and she sent it a menacing glare. She hoped the men on the other side would pick up on it and be intimidated, like they were supposed to. _If looks could kill . . . . ._

"Aw, sweetie, we know you're upset, but try _not_ to death-glare the lot of us, okay? With a look like that on your face, I can't guarantee that one of us won't mistake you for Kira and 'pass rightful judgment' on you. Hah!" The sound of human voices, though garbled by a scrambling machine, startled Sayu so badly she jumped, and she suddenly understood just how used to the absolute silence that was her prison cell she'd really gotten. _Wait . . . so this whole sitch is about Kira? I guess it makes sens__e. It's the 'big thing' in the world right now, and why else would an obvious idiot of a man bring up something as serious and completely unrelated as that at a time like this?_

Then her train of thoughts was drowned in the oncoming of a new realization: they could _hear_ her too._ And herein lies my source of entertainment, _she thought, smiling smugly. The boredom had gone, been lifted from her mind as hundreds of fresh ideas splashed through it, like a torrent of rainwater through a pipe after a thunderstorm. This was about to get good, real good.

"I love you, you love me . . ." she burst out randomly, bellowing the words of the famous Barney theme even though her voice still felt hoarse from screaming. This was a cheap little trick she'd dreamt up, designed to annoy the goons just a tad and aid them on their way to understanding her pain. However, not only would this be a vengeful act, it would also be a way to measure just how stupid they _actually _were. If this stupidity could come to her advantage as a means of gaining information (because everything, in a world with _Light, _needed a practical reason), it'd be all for the better. She wasn't sure where exactly knowledge like this could come in handy, but it was better to be prepared than sorry about it later.

"Shut it, prisoner," the jumbled voice said in response to her -quite bitchy, she thought- outburst. She only sang louder, drowning him out until he was forced to raise his voice.

"Dammit, SHUT UP!"

"La la la, I can't hear you!" she screamed finally, before launching into a song practically everyone on the planet knew. "La la, la la, Elmo's World! Elmo loves his goldfish, his crayon too . . . ." And suddenly, Elmo was reminding her more and more of Light's cutesy supermodel/pop star extraordinaire girlfriend, Misa Amane, by the second. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who referred to himself in third person.

_I wonder where she picked _that_ up from._

Shocked by her sudden revelation on classic children's television, Sayu fell into abrupt silence. And was surprised to learn that the Whiteroom (_I have been naming stuff far too often lately - thought I was past the delirious stage . . .) _could suddenly echo noises, even though it'd never done so previously. And that the echoes sounded like robots and could magically predict the next lines of the song.

And then she realized: . . . _Those idiots . . . are singing along! _Had her hands been free, she would've facepalmed. But this was far better a reaction than she could've hoped for, and things were finally starting to get interesting.

As the voices slowly died away, noticing she was no longer singing, Sayu decided to test just how far she could go with this.

"I throw my hands up in the air sometimes," she started, beckoning at the camera with her chin almost hopefully.

"Sayin' eeeyyo, gotta let go," they continued like obedient schoolchildren. Sayu smirked, bellowing along to the familiar tune, totally off key and not caring a bit.

When she'd finished, she stopped to take a breather, a small smile painted across her face. Singing could take a lot out of a person. She knew it from experience. A few years ago, she'd been keen on the idea of music and raring to go, signing up for several plays at a time, and even joining the middle school chorus to boot. A few dress-rehearsals and lead roles later, she caught herself wondering what had ever crossed her mind in the first place to make her think _that _was easy. Nevertheless, despite the work and effort that went into it, playmaking was an amazing experience and totally worth the trouble. Even during a kidnapping, she could still reminisce of her many on-stage screw-ups, or beautifully successful performances, or even her small teenage crush on the curtain boy (who'd turned out to be an absolute douche, of course).

"Aw, you can't possibly be done already," the scrambled voice complained, sounding rather childlike in its disappointment. It shook her out of the age-old memories dancing around her mind. "You're right," she muttered softly, sure that they couldn't hear her through the weak-looking microphone that hung suspended below the camera. "I can do better."

"Usher, anybody?" she questioned, beaming at the dark glass lens of the camcorder. There was a rowdy cheer that echoed around the room from the tiny speaker, and she blasted off into "OMG," the only music by the man that she knew the lyrics to. When he'd stopped in Tokyo on his world tour, that nuisance of a song had been blaring from the radio almost nonstop. And despite her dislike towards the guy and his style of music in general, Sayu had to admit that she'd eventually warmed up to it, like everyone does to an overplayed melody.

Hence the non-Japanese music choice. _Thank God I studied __English in college, _Sayu thought gratefully, giving her past self a pat on the back. _It's a lifesaver. Especially considering the fact that these idiot goons probably can't speak anything else._

Pretty soon, Sayu was lost in the music, prattling on through "Pokerface," "Baby," "Dynamite," "Every Time We Touch," and "Umbrella," to name a few. After a while, she'd made a subconscious decision to stop 'party-singing' and faded into her regular, deep, melodious voice. The goons had ceased some time ago, more content to watch their free concert than ruin it with the garbled scrambler. She seemed perfectly at ease with this, as though putting on a show for an audience was no big thing at all, and they had to admit they were pretty impressed.

When her repertoire was nigh-on empty, Sayu knew it was time to call it quits. To say the least, she'd enjoyed herself greatly for the past hour or so, and singing like she did back at home put her mind at ease. _It's easier to believe you're not here when you think__ you're back in Japan, _She thought solemnly, content for the moment. _But wait. What have they taught me in theatre class for all these years? That a show needs a finale._

Gathering herself, Sayu shouted at the camera, "Hey guys! Do you happen to know the harmonies to 'For Good?' You know, from Wicked?" A scrambled backup was better than no backup, after all.

She giggled when she heard a gasp and an "Ooh, I love that song!" on the other end, then launched into the final act of the night.

Despite their apparent stupidity, the men (nothing more than overgrown boys, if you really thought about it) could carry a note quite well if they put their minds to it. Sayu found her voice harmonizing nicely with theirs, and the result sent shivers tumbling down her spine. _It's a really pretty song if you get it right_, _and they got it right. _She smiled. Her time in this prison cell might not play out as badly as she thought it would after all.

On the second verse, the backup vocals died suddenly, crisply, and Sayu was on her own. It instantly seemed so silent, so lonely without the deep, albeit cracked voices that she almost cut off right there, but continued anyway. _So what if they decide to ditch me in the middle of a song, the bastards? I don't need them!_

"Like a comet pulled from orbit, as it passes the su-"

And that was the moment her show ended. No finale, no dramatic curtain fall, no roaring audience. For then, a sharp hiss echoed through the room, signifying the opening of the door. She whirled, only to lay eyes on a very aggravated-looking leather-clad blonde, tapping his foot against the floor.

* * *

><p>Sleep did Mello more good than he would know, even though his mind was constantly plagued by strange dreams of chocolate and little girls nowadays. After nearly two weeks of only sporadic naps, no more than two hours each, his system had slowly begun shutting down, oblivious to the sharp commands his mind was giving it. The feverish planning and almost non-stop action had sent him into a fervor, though towards the end, even he had to admit he wasn't thinking straight. It was pretty bothersome (and somewhat infuriating) to know that, unlike his greatest role model, the man whom he should've succeeded after his death, he was unable to go for weeks on end without rest and still be at his best. Then again, he was thinking of L, one of the most phenomenal and strange masterminds this world had ever seen. He knew that truly, he amounted to nothing compared to L, but it never stopped him from trying.<p>

Still, it somewhat hurt to know he couldn't match even some of the most basic qualities the great detective possessed, such as his cool, imposing nature and severely accurate calculations. But many things stung Mello more, like the fact that no matter what he did, what stunts he pulled, what crazy trick he tried, he never measured up that overachieving, monotonous bastard of a sheep. Ever, not in his whole history at Wammy's, and certainly not now, in the field.

_Damn him, _he thought bitterly. _But that's why I'm doing this. I'm going to prove to the whole world that I'm better than that albino twit. The tests thrown at us now are _real, _and if you fail, you die. There isn't second place to fight for._

It was the constant, sickly-sweet reminder of his almost-victory over Near that kept him going through his exhaustion, through his disgusting rages. This time, he was going to win. He was the one that took action, and wasn't afraid to kill in order to achieve his goals. It was what set the two of them apart; Mello took the initiative, and Near stayed locked in a room playing with his toys. They were similar from many points of view, yet worlds away. And with Near's obvious weakness in character, Mello would win eventually. He could count on it.

_Heh, ambitious thoughts bright and early in the morning. Maybe I'll actually get somewhere with the girl today, _he thought, stretching and not remembering feeling so refreshed in a long time.

So it was only natural (with his luck) that his positive morning parade was promptly ruined by the sound of raucous . . . was that . . . singing? Mello growled, instantly forgetting the shower he'd been dreaming of, and pushed past the thin wooden door into the hallway.

It only got louder.

"The hell?" he asked no one in particular, annoyed. He followed the noise until he could slowly begin to make out the words.

"To help us most to grow, if we let them . . . ." the gruff voices sang. Despite himself, Mello silently sniggered. Men? Singing Wicked songs?

The smile quickly vanished from his features, however, when he realized the loud melody was coming from the surveillance room, where they were supposed to be watching the prisoner. He bit his lip, wondering who had smuggled the booze in this time and what to do about him. _I run this show, _he thought, vowing to himself that he wouldn't let a lot of idiots ruin it for him, or for L's revenge. Sayu was a pretty girl, after all: if they were drunk, no doubt she'd have sweet-talked them into a tray of food and freedom of the wrists by now. That went against everything he'd set up in his mind, and his tower of plans would crumble to dust, just because one brick wasn't laid right.

So basically, he dreaded what he'd see when he walked in.

But when he pushed through the door, there were no people sprawled out on couches, drooling, or people arm-wrestling and smashing tables in the process. No, the whole lot he'd set on guard duty was there, intensely focused on the screens, even leaning forward slightly in their swivel chairs.

And sweetly singing the harmonies to one of the fluffiest songs he knew, arms wrapped around each other's shoulders and swaying side to side in the process.

If the situation wasn't as serious, he would have toppled to the ground laughing, but the way it was, he just beat them all up in rapid succession, until they were on the ground, nearly senseless.

"What the FUCK?" he screamed, just daring any one of them to look him in the eye. Every goon present quivered, and quickly averted their gaze, fearing Mello's wrath as though he were the Devil himself. He could very well have been, from their point of view on the floor, watching as his gleaming leather boots made their way slowly to the door. He walked with the pride and confidence of God himself.

As he left, fists clenched at his sides and a grimace painted across his face, one or two of them could've sworn his eyes glinted red for just a second there.

Mello's boots clicked softly on the floor as he walked down the hall with almost feline grace. He was questioning his resolve on the inside, unsure if he could face that girl again. The last time, he'd cracked as he stared into those teary eyes, wishing he could just send her home and be done with it. And there was just something so, so incredibly familiar about her it was striking; he didn't know what to think at this point. That on top of the ridiculous thoughts and dreams he'd been having lately added up to a jumbled mess of extreme confusion.

True, sleep had made it better, but in that brief moment of silence in the surveillance room, where no one had dared twitch lest they wished to face his rage on their own, Mello had heard an amazing sound. A beautiful sound, one that awakened all his doubt and guilt once more. It was a single voice, persevering even without an audience to hear. It was a sound of loneliness and solitude, but also of hope, and it gave Mello the chills. It was Sayu's voice, and it was calming to him, like a mother's lullaby is to her screaming child. So instead of throwing a fit and beating the failures of guards into oblivion, he'd lassoed his violent temper and tamed it, at least for the moment.

It was the thing that left Mello, though he would never admit it, scared. _Nobody has ever been able to do th__at to me, not even those stupid psychologists that visited Wammy's. What the hell is with that chick? The witch . . ._

He shook his head softly as he arrived at her door and pressed his hand against the scanner, waiting as it began to vibrate gently and read the dark crease-lines on his palm. After a brief moment, filled with only a shrill resonating note from beyond the mechanized door, the lock clicked open. With a barely audible hiss, a crack appeared in the wall, then widened to form a suitable entryway. Immediately, his senses were assaulted by the blazing light, but soothed by a sweet, hopeful melody as it wafted lazily through the air past him, oblivious to him. He winced, stepping through, the door sliding shut after him.

_Keep singing, _he thought, watching the still form of the black-haired girl before him. He closed his eyes, taking in his surroundings and breathing deeply. This stage of the kidnapping was much harder to physically do than he'd have thought possible when his mind was giving birth to this scheme. But, when all came down to it, it had to be done.

_Keep singing, please._

His hard-soled heel connected with the tiled floor, producing a loud, resounding crack. Sayu Yagami whirled around in a split second, cut off mid-line, shining brown eyes widening as they met his narrowed ones. She cowered, folding in on herself and hunching her shoulders (as much as she could with handcuffs, anyway), but her pupils remained trained on his ferocious gaze. She was still meek, but a spark of rebellion had lit in eyes, and her face was set in stubborn determination.

Mello didn't know how long the two of them stood there, each frozen for his or her own respective reasons, but he knew one thing for certain: he would never lose to his _captive_ in a staredown. She would avert her gaze, he would make her.

Yet no matter how much he scowled, no matter what sort of growl his throat emitted, she held her ground, and he was getting slightly frustrated.

_Woman, you don't want me angry, _he thought, a part of him silently pleading with her to drop her gaze. _Just humor __me;__ I don't want to hurt you again._

A shadow crossed her eyes for half a second, and as though reading his mind, she backed down. He sighed softly, facial features softening, and traced his wrists with the tips of his fingers, pondering his options now that he found himself in this situation.

Then he scowled, saying, "Give me your hands." It was too early, he knew, but it would be senseless to keep the handcuffs on any longer anyway. He may have been a killer, but he wasn't a sadist.

Within a minute or two, Sayu was sitting back more easily than before, rubbing her wrists and scowling at the angry red imprints the cuffs had left in her skin. She dared to sneak a glance at him, and seemed relieved that he no longer looked intent on killing her. He even went so far as grinning at her expression, though first making sure she wasn't looking.

Then a sudden urge, a longing, overtook him, and he slid his hand into his pocket, ripping out a chocolate bar (Hershey's Milk Chocolate, King Size) and fumbling with the wrapper. He closed his eyes as the semi-melted goodness slid over his tongue, and he savored it, knowing the rest of the day wouldn't get much better than this. As depressing as that would seem, it was the story of his life since he'd left Wammy's. He suspected that chocolate was the only thing that stood between him and insanity nowadays, though he was already on the verge of it.

Mello felt her eyes searching his face rather than seeing them. When he spared a glance down, she was intently locked onto the treat he held, an almost pleading look on her face.

He hesitated, but after a moment's consideration, he pouted and ripped off a chunk of his life's delight and tossed it in her direction. He could always just get another one, after all, and she probably hadn't eaten in more than a day and a half. A wave a pity washed over him as he watched her scramble after it, like a starved dog, and it pained him to know what just a smidge of physical abuse and hunger could do to a human being's pride. It was like she'd thrown it out a fourth floor window, climbed down, stomped on it twice, then walked away and forgotten about it. To think that, only three days ago, this same Sayu Yagami would have laughed at him in scorn if he'd tried to pull a stunt like that . . .

_To hell with me and my conscience, _he thought, kneeling down in front of the girl and offering her the rest of his chocolate bar. She cringed as he came closer, backing into the wall, before realizing what he was doing. She looked up at his face with terrified eyes, snatching the bar from his hand quickly, but only after he'd beckoned toward it with his head.

_She's afraid of me. She's angry, she stubborn, but she's afraid. How __could she be afraid, when I'm not even the biggest threat out there?_

Then he realized that through her eyes, he was. He was the great, roaring dragon, imprisoning his princess in the tallest tower so she had to count down her days to Prince Charming's rescue. He was the Joker, playing games with her mind and terrorizing her in ways that man should not know. He was Lord Voldemort, inflicting pain on her again and again, in different forms each and every time until she was battered and scarred and in tears.

But most of all, he was Mello, a man uncaring, cruel, and violent enough to do something like this to another being. He'd always prided himself in, well, himself, and his initiative, and his cognitive abilities, and he hated the way this girl always made him question his very being. It was like she was dissecting him, looking deep within his chest and wrenching that long-forgotten heart back to the surface again.

Yet, no matter what she did, he couldn't bring himself to hate _her._

This made no sense, because she obviously saw only that beast of cruelty and hatred within him, and hated him for it.

Then he bit his lip. _What am I even thinking about? Since when do I care what some annoying black-haired college chick thinks of me? Focus, Mello._

Of course, it was right then that something so weird, yet so strangely important to him, clicked in his mind. The black hair, the deep brown eyes, the soft facial features, obviously smile-worn, the modest way of dressing . . . . . all that was needed to complete the image was a red bow on top. Now that he thought about it, he knew who she resembled. Was it even possible that . . . she was the same girl from his dreams? No, not dreams: memories. The memory from way back when, in England, at Wammy's House. That monstrously depressing day, as he sat on the wooden bench outside the wrought iron fence, wondering whether he should end it now, while he still could . . . . .

_Chocolate._

_Could it be?_

Yes. It was. It was the same person.

It had to be.

He sized her up anew, the shock clearly evident on his face. She cocked her head to the side and sent him a questioning glance, wondering what was going through his head. He could tell she was trying to gauge him, trying to see if she could piece together his thoughts just from his expression, but he wasn't about to give her the chance.

_Right, Mello. Back to business. I can think about this later._

"Sayu Yagami." It wasn't a question. It was a statement, spoken with vehemence as he began to pace purposefully back and forth across the room. "Like I said before, I have a few questions that I'm going to ask you, and you will answer me with nothing but the absolute, full truth. Got it?"

* * *

><p>The sweet after-taste of chocolate that lingered on the roof of Sayu's mouth turned suddenly sour as bile rose up in her throat. Questioning? She had no idea what this whole bitch of a mess was about, and she was curious to find out, but she didn't want the interrogation to come. The nameless blondie hadn't actually said a single word to her up until a few seconds ago, and had actually shown her a smidgeon of the kindness in his heart. But when he'd spoken, oh, that voice, it was gruff and harsh, and the imminent threat in it was clearly evident. It canceled out her minutely growing trust for him (though she would never care to admit what she thought of her kidnapper) in an instant, snapped it clean in two, and filled her anew with that nervous tension that had held her in its embrace earlier. She was sure, no, positive, that what was about to come might turn out to be her worst experience in this whole blinding craphole of a dungeon. No, her worst experience <em>ever.<em>

_I'm thinking too far ahead again. Stupid me, I know I panic when I do that, but I do it anyway. Just take what Blondie throws at you and throw it back at him, Sayu. You've done it before, and so has Light. And you've always been better._

Still, she looked up at him nervously, mouthing the word "What?" unable to bring it past her lips.

Nevertheless, he ignored her, looking meaningfully at the camera she'd located in the corner earlier, and nodding at it curtly after a second or two. Almost immediately, the door hissed open, and a burly man, burdened by two heavy-looking wooden chairs, nearly toppled in, placing them on the ground across from one another and backing away. Sayu noticed absently that he retained careful eye contact with the not-very-interesting floor, not even daring to glance up quickly at the blonde.

_So he holds some form of authority here, _she pondered mentally. _But that doesn't really help me until I find out where "here"_ _is. Some sort of organization? Definitely somet__hing under the market, anyway . . ._

The blonde sat down with the grace of a cat, crossing his legs and beckoning to the other seat with a careless wave of his hand. She slid into it and intertwined her fingers nervously, almost expecting him to lunge at her in the next second. It _was _practically what he'd done last time, after all. She tensed subconsciously, hunching her shoulders.

"How are you feeling, Sayu?" he asked softly, startling her. The shiver-inducing menace had all but evaporated from his voice. When she dared to glance up, she saw that the ice in his brilliant blue eyes had melted, and his expression was warm.

She mentally amended her statement: _very good actor._

"Just peachy, thanks," she exclaimed while glaring daggers at him, letting the snap and sarcasm drip into her voice. She couldn't help it; the way he'd asked her if she was okay was just too . . . _normal. _It didn't, couldn't, apply to this situation, and didn't deserve to be used as such.

Nevertheless, the blonde narrowed his eyes, though it was a subtle movement and she was sure she hadn't been meant to notice.

"Very well then. If that is what you get for an attempt at normalcy," here she barked out a laugh, "then let's carry on." So formal. It was obvious he was playing the Gentleman Criminal card here, and it was thoroughly unimpressive. Sayu supposed she liked it better than Option 2, however. That wouldn't have been pretty.

"It is my understanding that you are a killer, are you not?"

"Wha-" For a moment she was speechless. "Where did _that_ come from?"

"And yet you avoided my question directly. What does that state about the answer? Or perhaps you just misunderstood. Here. To make it just a tad easier on you, I'll rephrase it: Have you ever killed any person? It could have been direct, indirect, or otherwise."

"N-no!"

"Very well, but can you say that you've never _hurt _another human being? Again, direct, indirect, or other."

Sayu's mental state was in the midst of building enormous skyscrapers of information, then crashing planes of dropped hints and unanswered questions into them, burning them to the ground. It was a jumbled mess of confusion as she tried to process this barrage of questions all at once. It was all going impossibly fast, jumping from one broad assumption to another in the space of half a second, and her brain just didn't function at 500 k.p.h. like his apparently did. She assumed this was the very point, to confuse a wrong answer past of her lips, but she was determined not to let that happen.

"Well, saying that I've never hurt anyone would not be the opposite of impossible, though I wouldn't say that I could say that I couldn't." **(A/N: Yes, if you squint VERY hard, it does make sense.)**

This did appear to stump him, but only for about half a second. Still, it was a small win for her side. He was scowling, but she realized with a start that it wasn't an unpleasant scowl, like before. He was almost . . . smiling. Sayu resisted the urge to quiver.

_Uh-oh._

"So let me get this straight: You've never not done anything that would make you unable to not say that you weren't un-innocent, but as a human being you've not never needed to not notify a number of unnoticed notorieties? If it's so, go ahead and tell me."

Sayu became momentarily slack-jawed with wonder, her tension forgotten. He could formulate a response like that in _half a second?_

Equally wondrous was the fact that she had, indeed, understood _everything he'd said._

"Yes," she said simply, gracing him with an innocent smile.

_Impressed him with that one, didn't I?_

He nodded thoughtfully. "All right. We aren't getting too far along doing this, are we? Though I have to say, you aren't as utterly stupid as you look." Sayu frowned, though she supposed it was probably true after all this time. She reflexively reached up and patted her hair down, winning an incredulous look from the blonde. 'What?' she wanted to say, but chose not to. This guy was already blunt as it was; she wasn't really after an insult-assault on her appearance.

"So do you know why I brought you here?" He questioned, some of the previous warmth returning to his voice. _He's forgotten to be the cold gentleman! What a laugh! _Sayu smirked inwardly, but held it in so as not to spoil her kidnapper's apparent good mood. He had quite a temper around him, and it was a fragile thing.

"No, of course, I don't _know._"

He was looking at her in a completely new light; she was sure of it. "Correct. Well then, Sayu, why do you _think_ you're here?"

Sayu caught her mental walls before they could crumble. There were cracks running down the sides, all the time thickening until soon there'd be nothing left. This man was - quite simply - unlike anything she'd ever met before. He was all over the place in terms of, well, _everything._ He was high, then he was low. Cruel, then kind. Absolutely enraged one second and grinning the next. And the whole time, even through the ice that coated his aura, a strange warmth was seeping through. She could feel it, and was drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

It was all part of his trap, his elaborate scheme to get her to say what he wanted her to, and to take advantage of it. Without the uttermost caution, she would fumble and fall right in, exactly where he wanted her. It was just an act, so tactical, so practiced, so perfected that she could barely read into it. That warmth was a lie; the layer of snow cloaking it had to come from somewhere, after all.

And yet, a prickling, itching little corner of her mind pleaded to let her believe that kindness in him was real.

Sayu watched him watch her with that steady, all-seeingly observant expression of his. What he had was a perfect poker face, and she absently wondered what he was thinking about at the moment. He'd caught her hesitation, for sure, but what that could mean to him she couldn't possibly know.

The only thing she _did _know was that his intellect was absolutely beyond her caliber, and she would have to watch herself no matter what. _I have to be perfect. This is a test, and I have to get a 100, not a 98, _she thought.

Then, as an added side note: _**please**__ let me get a 100._

"Judging by the direction in which your questioning is going, and what I heard mentioned earlier by the guards," she began, knowing they were in for a big scolding (or, most likely, more than that) after she'd uttered the words. They'd been amusing, but hey, they _were _stillenemies. "I'd say you were after Kira's head. However, I don't know how that, in _any _way, relates to me or this kidnapping. What does taking _me _accomplish?"

_Tread carefully, _a bypassing thought whispered. _The water can get deep in a footstep._

He nodded, shifting position slightly and tapping his fingers on the dark wood. "Very, very good. Judging by your school grades, I hadn't expected nearly this much of you. However, you ask for answers I, unfortunately, can't give."

_Tread careful, tread careful, tread careful . . ._

Then, just that suddenly, the soil fell from under her feet, and she needed to swim or die.

"Tell me, Sayu, did you know that your brother _was_ Kira?"

The bomb had been dropped. What could she do? What could she say? What did he _want _her to say? What was she even thinking? "Brother" and "Kira." Two words that should never have been said in the same sentence around her. It put her mind into a flurry, no, an explosion.

The answer he was after, it had to be simple. It was one of those fifty-fifty things in which a person always made the wrong choice. But she couldn't hesitate. No, not for this one. He would read countless things of it, and perhaps that was the very response he was wishing for.

She wanted to shiver, she wanted to quake, she wanted to push it off to another time. She wanted, more than anything, to hide in a corner and make it going away. Admittance was the first step to recovery, they said, but she couldn't admit it, she just couldn't.

But she couldn't hesitate either.

"Yes," she said firmly, angrily, daring him to contradict her.

Then she put a hand to her lips, wishing the world she could take it back. Because in that question of _swim or die_, she had chosen death.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN:) Astreich: I also do not own Lady Gaga, Cascada, Wicked, etc . . . . But HONESTLY, show me a girl that has not wished to play Glinda at least ONCE in her life.**

**Mello: So, you done using _puppets?_'**

**Astreich: DON'T KILL ME!**


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